Windmills in the Dark The Sequel to Windmills in the Mist

By Robert William Saul Harvey

Completely re-written and re-edited.

Following on from Windmills in the Mist:

Carole moves into the cottage in an attempt to come to terms with, not only David’s accident, but those revelations of events from years past.

David has survived the accident, if lying in a coma in a hospital bed can be called surviving.

Although David is aware of his surroundings he is unable to communicate with those around him and, with his usual laid-back approach to things, struggles to find a way to overcome the restrictions placed upon him by whichever God had decided to punish him for—what? Not believing? Not caring? Just, getting on with life?

Huh!
Some life this is!

In your dreams, you can do anything you want to do.
But,
The one thing you cannot do is wake up!
And,
The worst thing with being in the dark is, not being in the light!

• Language: English
• Publisher: Robert William Saul Harvey
• Release date: Apr 16, 2014
• ISBN: 9781311953421

Robert William Saul Harvey

Robert was born in 1949 in the small Scottish hamlet of Douglas West, Douglas in Lanarkshire, but moved to England when his father, a miner, had to move south for a job.Having left school at the age of fifteen, without any qualifications whatsoever, he started work in a small engineering firm. He soon got fed up coming home covered in dirty grease and having a spotty face so, after six months, decided that engineering was not for him. With nothing to lose, he ran away to sea, so to speak. He joined the Merchant Navy and happily spent three and a half years travelling the world and getting paid for it!Meeting his future wife at the age of nineteen convinced Robert to leave the sea and settle down. There were not many jobs around for a nineteen-year-old and he ended up doing bar/cellar work until deciding to get married at the age of twenty. That was when he joined the Royal Air Force, in which he spent nine years as a Clerk Secretarial, attaining the rank of Corporal before leaving in 1979.After applying for various jobs, Robert finally got one with the National Coal Board in a colliery Stores Department. Ok, this would do him for a while, whilst he looked around for something better. Thirty years later, as a Supply and Contracts Manager, he retired from the Coal Industry at the age of fifty-nine and now has an allotment where he plays at growing vegetables (very nice they are too), and spends his spare time dabbling on his laptop; bliss.Now, with seven books on Smashwords, an eighth under construction, and number nine in the pipeline, who knows where it will stop?Second in the series, Beryl's Pup is now also available.

Book preview

Chapter 1

The first thing David Crawley noticed when he regained consciousness was the fact he could not move, could not open his eyes or turn his head. There was something wrong with him, something very wrong.

‘What?’

Instinct told him to panic, common sense told him to take it easy, try to figure out where he was and remember what had happened.

Panic almost won but common sense prevailed.

He would have made calmer by taking deep breaths whilst counting up to fifty, but something prevented him from doing so.

He could not inhale.

Something blocked his throat, pumped air into his lungs and dragged it out again.

Something other than himself had control of his breathing.

‘Shit! What is it?’

A vision of some horrible alien being with its proboscis shoved down his throat made him want to gag.

Think: Alien—The Movie!

‘No! Wait. Stay calm. Think! Don’t be silly. There’s got to be a logical explanation.’

Regaining control of his mind, he visualized himself lying on his back, on a bed but did not know which, or whose, bed it might be.

Neither did he know why he should be there, wherever ‘There’ might be.

Unable to see, or feel anything, or move a muscle, he concentrated on the one thing that worked—his hearing.

‘I’m a vegetable but my ears function okay!’ he thought. He would have laughed aloud if he were able. ‘Other than that, though, I’m a fucking vegetable!’

He knew he ought to worry, but for whatever reason, he remained calm.

‘I’m a cabbage but at least I’m alive!’

So,

He was not dead.

He was sure of that.

Such a comfort, knowing he was alive.

He could hear everything going on around him, albeit the sounds appeared muffled, like listening through a wad of cotton wool.

‘Right. Relax. One thing at a time. What can you hear?’

The steady ticking of a clock.

Tick, tick, tick!

The unmistakable slow beep of, what he assumed to be, a heart monitor.

Beep, beep, beep!

In addition, he recognized the monotonous, hushed whoosh of a ventilator by the side of his bed.

Whoosh, whoosh, whoosh!

A ventilator helping to keep him alive?

A mechanical pump.

Nothing like the old cumbersome Iron Lung of years ago.

Think: Polio victims.

‘Okay. That means I’m in a hospital. but why?’

A myriad of subdued everyday sounds reached his ears; footsteps going past his room, assuming his was in a room, things which clinked and clanked, squeaked and whined, people talking, sometimes shouting and many other, undecipherable, sounds.

‘Definitely sounds like a hospital.’

He deduced he must be in a room on his own because the noises echoed, far away.

Unable to open his eyes, David could not tell what time of day, or night, it might be. He could only surmise.

During daylight hours, he assumed, rather than nighttime because the muffled noises, to him, sounded more like daytime noises but hey, what did he know?

He might be wrong.

He did not have the foggiest how long he had ended up here. Thought he might have been awake for only two or three minutes at most, but time can be deceptive when you have nothing by which to measure it.

Because he could not open his eyes, everything was black.

Normally, when someone is awake, with their eyes closed, some light filters through the eyelids, meaning there is a gray or pink hue.

David had none of this, only an impenetrable black.

And that was it.

He could think and he could hear.

Nothing else.

‘This makes no sense.’

He had not been awake for long, but already he wanted to sleep.

‘Shit. It’s not funny. I need to stay awake. I need to know what the hell’s going on!’

So frustrating.

Tick, tick, beep, beep, whoosh, whoosh!

He had a weird idea the clock, the heart monitor, and the ventilator were all laughing at him.

‘Bastards.’

He ignored them as best he could and concentrated on trying to figure out why he might be in a hospital bed.

Thoughts.

Memories.

Memories came seeping back into his mind.

Oh!

Yes!

Now,

He could remember everything.

All of it.

Think: Total Recall—another movie.

The wedding, the small reception in the pub, the wedding night, and the following morning, including his trip to town to collect tickets for their honeymoon cruise.

‘Oh, no. Carole!’

Fear gripped his mind and made a knot in his stomach.

‘She’ll be waiting for me to come home!’

Again, he almost panicked when an image of his wife, waiting with suitcases packed at the ready, wondering where he was, filled his mind.

‘Does she know about this? Has anyone told her? Help…!’

***

Everything had been going as planned.

All he had to do was pick up their tickets from the young girl at the travel agent’s shop in town and return to the cottage.

From there, he and Carole would head off on honeymoon—a Caribbean cruise which he had secretly planned and arranged with the help of Carole’s mother, Freda.

Now,

It had all gone horribly wrong!

He remembered; taking a taxi into town, where he picked up the tickets from the travel agent and, on the return journey, sitting in the front passenger seat of the taxi, the driver staying well inside the speed limit and they both wore seat belts. The driver was not over the alcohol limit—he had not been drinking—and minded his own business.

No idle chatter like many a taxi driver.

Suddenly, a fleeting glimpse of some stupid asshole of a twat careering around a bend in the road at a great rate of knots, on the wrong side, coming straight toward them!

As most people would have done in such a situation, the driver of the taxi had instinctively wrenched the steering wheel to his left to avoid the oncoming vehicle and avert a head-on collision.

David glimpsed the horrified expression on the face of the driver of the other car and noticed how he had also turned his steering wheel to his left but had not been quick enough and the two vehicles met, offside wing to offside wing.

The force of the collision sent the taxi spinning around in an anti-clockwise direction, ending up facing the opposite way, but its momentum had continued to carry it in its original direction.

The taxi skidded across the grass verge, and thumped into something solid, rear-end first, before somersaulting onto its roof and rolling down an embankment.

David had a vague recollection of the air bag on his side of the vehicle exploding into action, filling his vision, before everything went black.

However,

He could not say if the airbag on the driver’s side had inflated or not.

Bang!

That was it: David’s own personal ‘Big Bang’.

Next thing, he found himself here, in this condition, whatever condition he might be in.

Tick, tick, beep, beep, whoosh, whoosh!

David hated to think how the person responsible for this might get away scot-free, with nothing more than a dented front wing, whilst he, David, was condemned to lying helpless in a hospital bed, perhaps for the rest of his life.

And what of the driver of the taxi?

‘I hope he’s alive. Did he get out okay? Was it he who called an ambulance? Or is he laid-up in hospital as well?’

He reckoned he would find out, eventually.

Someone would tell him.

Meanwhile,

‘And, what about Carole? Does she know where I am?’

He mentally cringed at the thought of Carole waiting for him to return home, not knowing what had happened to him.

‘What must she be thinking? Fuck! I hope someone’s been and told her.’

An overwhelming urge to shout out, in the hope someone would come and answer his questions, gripped his mind.

‘Don’t be daft,’ he reasoned. ‘You’ve got a bloody great tube stuffed down your throat, you bloody idiot.’

The knowledge, all he could do was lie where he was and vegetate, like a vegetable, made him want to laugh and cry at the same time.

Think: A cabbage with legs—useless legs.

‘Ha! Bugger! Shit!’

Sob.

‘Fuck!’

It was all too much for him.

He could not think straight.

Anger and frustration made for a mind in turmoil.

So weary.

He needed to sleep.

Tick, tick, beep, beep, whoosh, whoosh…!

Chapter 2

It had all happened far too quick.

Instinct took over.

The taxi driver had tried his best to avoid the collision.

David could not blame him, he had instinctively wrenched the wheel as hard as he could, but the force of the impact was too great.

They never stood a chance.

‘Not brilliant, eh?’ thought David. ‘Not clever at all. Bastard!’

Somewhere, in the depths of his mind, something told him; the accident had damaged something important.

His brain?

His spine?

Something else?

‘Where did all this shit come from? Don’t start imagining things. You’ll only make it worse.’

He reasoned how he might have subconsciously overheard someone, a doctor, perhaps, discussing his condition, when they had brought him into the hospital.

‘It’s amazing what an unconscious mind can pick up.’

He got the general idea, though.

If the accident had damaged his spine, it may account for his lack of motor functions.

‘Phew! I hope not.’

Because his brain had been violently shunted around inside his skull, it may be the reason for his immobilization and might go some way to explain why he felt so tired. It would also explain the pain in the back of his head, not to mention the pain in his neck, back and shoulders.

Even his arms were aching.

But,

He had no feeling in his legs at all.

No pain.

No nothing.

Now he was worried.

The lack of feeling in his legs could mean a damaged spine. The damage may be permanent, or hopefully, it may only be temporary.

Whichever,

‘It can’t be good.’

He dreaded to think, he might never walk again.

He did not fancy spending the rest of his life in a wheelchair.

Always assuming, he would wake up from this nightmare soon…

***

‘Come on, someone, anyone, for shit’s sake. Get this crap off me, so I can get up and carry on with my life.’

No one answered his plea.

Tick, tick, beep, beep, whoosh, whoosh!

If only he could open his eyes, even a little, that would be something.

He tried to move his eyelids.

Nothing happened.

‘How the hell does that work?’

He tried again.

Still nothing.

‘If only I could blink, I’d be able to answer questions. One blink for ‘yes’, two for ‘no’.’

Nope.

He could not blink, could not even flutter his eyelids.

‘Even that would be better than nothing.’

Well.

‘Sod it.’

The only thing to do, for the time being, was lie still and listen to the clock ticking, the heart monitor beeping, and the ventilator whooshing.

Tick, tick, beep, beep, whoosh, whoosh!

His mind was good.

His thoughts were rational, well as rational as they could be under the circumstances.

He appeared to remember everything, well, almost everything.

But,

The rest of his body felt—knackered.

‘What a fucking state to get into. You bloody idiot! Why didn’t you have that young girl deliver the tickets to the cottage? This would never have happened.’

The crash flashed through his mind again, but he could not grab it and stick it on a mental blackboard—the images were sporadic, irregular and fleeting, not in any specific order.

‘Shit! Shit! Shit!’

The seconds ticked by.

Feeling sorry for himself, bored and for want of something to occupy his mind, David thought it was time he experimented.

‘It can’t hurt to try, can it?’

He took mental note as he tried to move each part of his body.

First his arms, one at a time.

Each made negative.

‘Nothing!’

Next, his hands.

‘Nope.’

Now, his fingers. Again, one at a time.

‘Still nothing.’

Except…

Feeling!

Or,

Was it his imagination?

‘I’m sure I can feel something in my hand, or my fingers?’

Really?

Phantom feelings?

Perhaps.

He tried again.

‘Bollocks!’

Nothing.

‘I was sure I could feel something.’

Instead of dwelling on this, he carried on with his experiment.

His legs, toes, head, and anything else he could think of produced negative results.

Sod all!

‘Bollocks! Not a twitch.’

Nothing.

‘Bugger.’

He even tried to frown or smile, but failed.

He tried grunting and groaning, huffing and puffing, but all to no avail.

He even, in desperation, tried to fart.

Nada.

At least, he could feel nothing happening ‘down below’. For all he knew, he might have shit himself!

Tick, tick, beep, beep, whoosh, whoosh!

It worried him to know, he could feel nothing below the waist, not even pain.

No.

That could not be right—it terrified him.

Even though he now felt a few pains above the waist, the weight of the sheet and blankets on top of him, the pillow his head rested upon, the mattress on which he lay, but not his arms!

It horrified him to think, ‘Oh shit. Don’t say they’ve cut my legs off! And my arms! Don’t say that, for fuck’s sake.’

Fear gripped his mind…

Chapter 3

The special mattress undulated beneath his body, massaging him.

Because he could not move, he assumed the mattress was there to prevent him from getting bedsores and to keep his blood circulating freely.

He did not understand how the thing worked, neither did he care, as long as it did the job they paid it to do—he made a mental smile.

Silly.

‘Is the tingling in my fingers anything to do with this, or is it a sign of something more sinister?’

He did not understand what it meant, and it worried him.

‘I can’t ask anyone either.’

Tick, tick, beep, beep, whoosh, whoosh!

The only positive thing about his current condition was how any pain he felt appeared to be under control.

Did this mean he was not too badly hurt?

Or,

Did it mean, they, the doctors and nurses, were pumping him full of painkillers?

‘Shoosh. There’s a thought.’

Think: Smack-head.

More likely, he was so smashed-up they had to give him something to kill the pain else he would scream his head off in agony and trying to climb the walls to get away from it.

‘That’s a laugh, you pillock.’

He knew he could not scream, neither would he be climbing walls any time soon.

Perhaps never.

‘You’ve really messed things up this time, you bloody idiot. Carole must think I’m a right fool. Why can’t anything go right, just for once?’

Tick, tick, beep, beep, whoosh, whoosh!

He strained his ears as he listened for any sound, other than the machines by his bed, which might indicate someone was coming to visit him.

Anyone would be welcome, even a cleaner.

‘It would be good if I had a fairy godmother somewhere, who’ll come and wave her magic wand and free me from this living hell?’

He heard nothing other than,

Tick, tick, beep, beep, whoosh, whoosh!

‘I suppose everyone’s gone home by now. It seems like I’ve been awake forever.’

A heavy feeling made a slow descent, crawled over his body, weighed down on him and clouded his mind.

He was on the verge of dozing off when he heard the rattling of, what he assumed to be, a door handle and the sound of slow, soft footsteps coming towards him, followed by the unmistakable creak of a door being opened…

***

‘Hello?’

He identified the scrape of a chair being pulled across the floor.

The chair creaked.

‘Someone sitting down?’

Two hands gently took hold of, and cradled, his left hand.

‘I can feel that! I can feel You!’

Hello, love. How are you today?

The voice was soft and gentle—a voice he recognized instantly.

Carole!

‘Oh, yes! Thank you! Thank you.’

The woman he had recently married, how long ago?

Days, months, years?

That depended on how long he had been unconscious.

He tried to squeeze her hand, to let her know he was awake, to let her know he knew she was there.

‘I’m here.’

But,

He could not even do something as simple as this.

For all she knew, he was still far away in the land of ‘dead to the world’.

‘At least she knows I’m still alive.’

He heard her sigh.

Sounded, sad.

A sigh of resignation.

If he only could, he would cry.

She would notice his tears and know he was conscious.

She idly stroked the back of his hand.

Mom sends her love, she whispered.

‘Thanks.’

She says for you to take it easy and conserve your strength.

‘Yeah. Like I’m gonna jump up and run around, like a bloody idiot.’

She’s sure you’re gonna get better in time.

‘Uh-huh. So you don’t?’

She squeezed his hand, a gentle, reassuring squeeze.

So do I.

Her voice seemed to catch.

Was she crying?

Surely not—not his Carole? Tough, hard nut, fight-everyone-in-the-world Carole?

Nah.

She had too much self-control to let herself cry.

If only he could sit up.

He wanted to take her in his arms and hold her tight to him.

If only…

I went down to the cottage this morning, she said. Just to look at it. It looks so empty from the outside. So empty there without you. I couldn’t even bring myself to go into the garden. I just stood in the lane outside and stared at the house.

She paused for a moment.

He got the impression she was trying to hold back the tears and it upset him.

‘You should’ve gone into the cottage. There’s nothing at all to stop you from moving in, living there.’

I can’t go back to live there, not yet. Not without you. I just can’t. I hope you can understand that.

Another pause.

Whisper!

‘So what are you going to do now?’

Mom says I can stay at home with her, as long as I need to. Until you get better.

‘Good old Freda.’

She sat quietly, holding his hand, for what seemed like an eternity.

Tick, tick, beep, beep, whoosh, whoosh!

He felt her move, lifting his arm.

‘Shit! I can feel that, as well! Yes! Yes! Yes!’

She kissed the back of his hand then kissed his cheek.

‘And that!’

The feel of her wet lips on his skin sent a pang of longing shooting through his heart.

Her voice made little more than a whisper when she said, Please come back David. Please.

‘Okay. No problem. Let’s go home now.’

I can’t bear you being like this.

‘Neither can I.’

Another sigh.

In his mind, he sat up, took her in his arms, and they kissed and cried together.

It hurt him to think he may never hold her again.

Her soft voice broke into his thoughts, I’m sorry, David. I have to tell you… The taxi driver died. They pronounced him dead at the scene. Apparently, he didn’t stand a chance. The taxi hit a low branch on the tree. It came through the back of the taxi, straight through the driver’s seat and speared through his body. Poor man. The police are still trying to trace the evil git who caused the accident. Well, I know Joe is doing his best, anyway.

‘Good old Joe. Handy to have a police sergeant as a friend.’

He told me he won’t rest until he’s tracked the bastard down. His words, not mine. He said the driver buggered off and left the scene of the crime. It’s amazing how he could drive his car away from there. They found a bit of a wing on the road and some broken glass from one of his headlights.

‘I’d like to kick both his headlights out.’

Joe’s going round local garages to see if the guy’s trying to get new parts for his motor. Joe says they’ll catch him, eventually.

‘The sooner the better.’

Her voice, gentle and low, made sad and David’s heart ached for her.

Life’s just so empty now, without you. I don’t know what to do with myself anymore. Everything would be so good. It’s all gone to shit now you’ve gone.

‘I’ve not gone! I’m still here.’

I’ve got no one at all now.

‘Yes, you have. You’ve got Freda.’

Mom’s good. She tries her best, in her own way. She goes to the cottage each day to make sure everything’s all right.

Inwardly, David smiled, visualizing Carole’s mother going from room to room at the cottage to make sure there had been no intruders and everything was still in its rightful place, with a duster in one hand and the carpet sweeper thingy in the other.

He wondered what would happen if Freda came across someone trying to burgle the place;

Would she scream?

Would she hit him, or her, with a poker or a rolling pin?

Would she chase them down the lane?

Whatever,

He did not give much hope for the poor burglar—he would probably shit himself at the sight of the fearsome Freda heading his way and hightail it out of there.

She could be quite a formidable woman when she was angry could our Freda.

Mom says I can talk to her anytime I want to but she won’t push me if I don’t want to talk. I know she means well but well, you know I can’t open up to anyone, not even to mom.

Whisper!

‘Or to me, but let it go. Talk to her. You’ll feel better for it.’

I know it’d probably make me feel better to talk to her about you and me, but I can’t. I don’t like showing my inner feelings, I never have. Mom understands that.

‘Moms are wonderful like that, so I hear.’

Carole suddenly changed the subject, and David had the feeling she was on the verge of crying again.

I hope you like the room. I thought it would be better if you had a room to yourself. It’s costing a bit, but it’s better than being in a big, noisy ward. You can get a bit of peace in here.

‘Yeah, sure. But I’m bored out of my skull.’

I hope you’re all right with it?

‘Yes. I am. Anything you do is fine by me.’

Bertram Knave, you know, the lawyer who looks like a Toby jug from the back, well, he’s let us have a bit of an advance on your inheritance. That’s what’s paying for the room. He says there isn’t a problem, they will sort thing’s soon and you can have it all once probate’s completed. He said to let him know if there’s anything else I, er you, we need.

‘Good old Bertie. I bet he’s filling his own back pocket, though.’

"He’s a nice man, but he